Sea of Strangers

by Erica Cameron

  “Will they?” Despite my new immortality, it’s hard to believe anything can truly be healed; most of the time it’s more like learning to live around the scars. Just because a wound isn’t bleeding doesn’t mean it’s gone. “Varan is still chasing vengeance for wounds no one else even remembers!”

  “You ridiculous overachiever. Always expecting miracles.” I expected anger—Rai’s almost always quick to anger—but all I see in her face is resigned amusement. “I promise, whatever happens from here, you’ll walk away knowing you did every single thing it was physically possible for you to do.”

  If I’m able to walk away from it at all. As soon as our next mission is complete, immortality won’t mean the same thing as it does now. Whatever weapon we create to kill the bobasu will work against me, too. Against anyone who has this magic running under their skin.

  There aren’t too many situations I can imagine where I fail Yorri but survive Varan’s vengeance. Which maybe is a good thing. If I fail, I’ll likely lose a lot more than Yorri. I might lose everything. I wouldn’t want to live with that.

  “It’s not like I don’t understand, Khya.” Tsua smiles reassuringly as she picks up a dagger and a whetstone. “But being impatient won’t make time move any faster.”

  “I don’t—” I cut myself off and take a breath. “I’ll try.”

  “Patience isn’t one of my son’s best characteristics, either.” Tsua smirks as she sharpens the blade. “Zonna always moved quicker than we expected.”

  “He was even born early. By a full moon,” Chio adds with a soft laugh, looking to where their son is checking over the massive ukaiahana’lona as one of the small ahoali’lona rubs against his leg. “We were worried he wouldn’t be strong enough to survive.”

  “He’s always surprised us.” Tsua flips the dagger, catches it to sharpen the other edge.

  Their devotion to Zonna makes me wonder. “Why didn’t you have more children after you discovered he’d inherited the immortality?”

  “Zonna was our third, not our first.” Chio’s lips thin, but that’s all I catch of his expression before he looks at the ground. “Our eldest daughter died before we left Ryogo. Our middle daughter died of old age on Shiara. Zonna is the only one with the same Kaijuko-cursed lifespan as us. There’s no way for anyone to know which children will inherit that.” He looks up and gestures to me. “Just look at you and Yorri. What made him immortal, and not you? Something in our blood, maybe, or something only the Kaisubeh control.”

  “It wasn’t worth the risk to try?” They so clearly love Zonna. Wouldn’t they want more people capable of sharing the centuries with them?

  “How many times would you be able to watch someone you love die? Would you keep bringing children into the world knowing you’d outlive them?” Tsua shakes her head, grief in her eyes. “I did it twice, and I was convinced a third would kill me. Or make me wish I could die.”

  I look down. I poked a wound, that much is obvious. I hadn’t known it was there, but it’s clear it hasn’t ever healed. Apologies feel necessary, because she’s right. Once would be too much to suffer something like that, and they risked it three times. What can I say, though? I can’t come up with anything.

  Thankfully, Tessen changes the subject. “Do you think these storms are because of Varan’s work?”

  The lightning on the horizon has gotten so frequent we can almost see by it, and the thunder has become a near-constant noise.

  “As sure as we can be,” Chio says.

  Tsua scrapes the blade across the stone again. “Which is to say, not at all sure.”

  “What do we do if Varan gets here before we’re ready?” Natani asks.

  “As much as we can with whatever we have at the time.” Chio looks at us with a smile on his thin lips. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my annoyingly long life, it’s that you can only do what you’re capable of doing.”

  “I know that.” Everyone does. What else can anyone do?

  Tsua looks up from the whetstone, amusement in her eyes. “No, you don’t. Not yet. I know it sounds like an obvious lesson, but it took me a very long time to learn it. You’ve only just begun, child.”

  And, unless Varan kills me, or I’m forced to sacrifice myself to bring him down, I’ll have a lifespan as long as Tsua’s to learn.

  I don’t know how to begin comprehending that length of time. Or what I might learn, what I might see or do or be by the end of it. I could have centuries. If we win this war, I could spend those centuries with Yorri and Sanii. And—I resolutely don’t look at Tessen—anyone else who might be willing to risk death to gain that sort of life.

  Getting to this point has been a series of painful revelations. Since the night Tessen told me Yorri had died, the Miriseh have been unmasked, Ryogo has been revealed, and my loyalty, once so entrenched in Itagami, has shifted. Even in Ryogo, we’ve revealed a truth about the Kaisubeh the Ryogans have forgotten, broken into a prison these people don’t know exist, and are trying to stop an enemy from their past from rising up and crushing them.

  It’s all too much.

  We were raised to think we were alone in the world, that our isolated island was the world. Now there are lands I know exist but have never seen or heard of, people with languages I can’t understand, and I’m left questioning everything I once thought was undeniable.

  The more I learn, too, the harder it is to believe I’ll ever have a chance to go home.

  It’s even harder to believe Itagami will still feel like home when I do.

  …

  Tessen watches me with mild concern over the next three days, knowing in his usual impossible way that my mind is mired in uselessly distressing thoughts. However, he never makes me explain what has me tied me up in mental knots. Instead, he works with Soanashalo’a, Osshi, and Chio, plotting our route and helping us avoid as much danger as possible.

  Twice, it’s unavoidable; to get closer to where we need to be, we must risk the main roads. The watched roads. The roads where the Ryogans have hidden garakyus. To be safe, Tessen scans for signs of magic before we use any stretch of road, and we head back into the forests again as soon as we can.

  Since we discovered the garakyus watching the roads, we’ve had to assume the tyatsu know we’re traveling with the hanaeuu we’la maninaio caravan. What we don’t know is if the watchers know we’re with this particular caravan. And I also don’t know if the hanaeuu we’la maninaio’s protections and my own wards will be enough to keep us safe.

  The storm hasn’t let up, but for the last two days it’s been a stable sort of awful. Day five of our southerly trek dawns without a dawn; the storm is so loud, dark, and strong that we never see a hint of sunlight break through the purple-black clouds. If not for the watch rotation and my internal sense of time, I’d never believe it was morning.

  “I’m worried these winds will keep us on the main roads for too long.” Tessen peers out of the warded wagon window at the gale.

  “I can check in with Lo’a,” Osshi offers. “I wanted to talk to her about a supply stop. There are some things we need at the next safe market.”

  Market. The word doesn’t mean much at first, but then I remember the explanation—markets are how Ryogans get necessary things like food. Even after Osshi and the andofume explained, the concept is confusing. A whole city block or more of food, clothes, and whatever else, but none of it can be taken without pieces of different metals to trade in return, according to Osshi. And if you take something without giving those metal bits, you’ll be punished by the tyatsu. Even if all you took was food because you were starving.

  I don’t understand it, so I shrug and tell Osshi, “Whatever you think we need.”

  “I better go now.” His gaze jumps to the door. “We’ll be moving soon.”

  “Be careful,” I remind him.

  Nodding, Osshi’s eyes jump to meet mine and then back to the door. Then he clears his throat. “Thank you.”

  As soon as I lift the ward, he
picks up his small pack and jumps out of the wagon. Drops of rain and bits of debris blow through even in the few seconds it takes for him to clear the doorway. I replace the protection as soon as he’s out. The caravan moves away from the camp moments later.

  Throughout the day, the storm rages and swirls, battering and rocking the wagons. Trees shake and sway. We deal with stuck wagons, injured animals, and once, a box of supplies torn from where it had been strapped to a wagon. The weather is so bad we stop at what must be midday to let the ukaiahana’lona hauling the wagons rest and eat, pulling leaves from the trembling trees, but no one leaves the wagons unless they have something to fix.

  By the time my stomach starts grumbling for something more sustaining than the dried meat and fruit we’ve been eating all day, the wagons stop and the wind quiets.

  I release the ward on the door and jump down. We’re in a clearing, protected on one side by the flat, rocky side of a hill and on two others by trees growing so close together they practically form a solid wall, their branches intertwining overhead to give us a roof. The protection isn’t a perfect buffer, but it makes the chaos pouring out of the sky survivable.

  People are climbing out of the other wagons and setting up fires. Across the small camp, Soanashalo’a is talking to one of the elders—Akia, I think his name is. He and the gray-haired woman the others call Hoku are the two who seem to be the real leaders of the family.

  I head toward them and Soanashalo’a smiles when she spots me, ending her conversation with Akia after a few words and a touch to his shoulder.

  It’s strange to see, but gestures like that are common for her people. Slowly, my squad and I have learned how to control our instinctive reactions to it. It helps that the hanaeuu we’la maninaio have been careful not to take the same liberties with us that they take with one another.

  So when Soanashalo’a holds out her hand to me, I don’t hesitate taking it or letting her pull me closer to press a kiss to my cheek. I’m surprised by it—she’s never done that in front of her family before—but I don’t stop it from happening. It makes more sense when she looks over my shoulder and says to Tessen, “Do you even know what your face looks like when I do that? It is incredibly amusing.”

  “If you’d been less of a help to us, I might take offense at that,” Tessen says behind me. I hadn’t even known he was following.

  “You mean if Khya liked me less, you might take offense at that,” she counters.

  I roll my eyes, suppressing a laugh. “It’s harder to offend Tessen than you’d think. I’ve tried many times over the years.”

  “That is so unfortunately true,” he says with an aggrieved sigh.

  “But I came over to ask you about Osshi, not Tessen,” I say while she laughs. “What did you two decide about the market?”

  “Market? We should not need to visit one for several days.” She looks confused. “Is there something special you need?”

  “No, but I—” I take a breath. “Osshi left this morning because he needed to talk to you.”

  More confusion. “He never came. I have not seen him since last night.”

  “But he—” My stomach drops. “Blood and rot.” I yell for Tsua.

  “Osshi’s gone,” I say as soon as she appears, my hands clenched tight. “I don’t know if he got injured by the storm and left behind or if he ran off, but he never made it to Lo’a after he left us this morning.”

  “This storm has been loud, but if he’d been hurt, I think one of us would’ve heard him calling for help,” Tessen says slowly. “Why run, though?”

  “We were as close to Atokoredo as we were going to get today.” Tsua sounds both frustrated and resigned, as if she should’ve expected this.

  Tessen peers northeast, toward the city. “If I’m remembering the maps right, the river that splits southeast leads directly to Jushoyen.”

  “It does,” Soanashalo’a confirms. “Jushoyen became their central city because it sits at the junction of three major rivers. One flows into Jushoyen from Atokoredo. Passenger ships travel between the cities every day, so if Osshi was not arrested as soon as he stepped foot in Atokoredo, then he could be almost to Jushoyen by now.”

  “They know he’s been traveling with a group,” I mutter. “Breaking off on his own might’ve given him a chance at sneaking through the cities. I don’t know if he could’ve come up with a better plan if he’d tried.”

  The squad can tell something is wrong as soon as they see our faces, and from the mix of expressions, few of them are surprised when we fill them in.

  “I kind of want to hunt him down and kill him.” Rai sighs. “But I also know I’d probably do the same thing if I was in his place.”

  Murmurs of agreement and dissent rise from the others. I keep my mouth shut, honestly not sure which side of that divide I fall on.

  “We need to change our path and push faster,” Chio says, his expression subdued. “If he’d left us before our trip to Mushokeiji, the Jindaini might not have believed his story, but now there’s enough proof for him to point to.”

  “That had better not be true,” Tsua says. “If they do believe his stories…”

  If they do, we’ll have to deal with even more trouble headed our way, and we already have more than enough.

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  The day after Osshi leaves us—abandons us; deserts us; betrays us—we veer southwest and use a smaller road the hanaeuu we’la maninaioare are almost sure the Ryogans wouldn’t deem worth watching. It’s a risk, but it’s worth it to gain as much distance as we can when our boots and the wagons’ wheels get sucked into the soggy dirt whenever we leave the stone-inlaid roads.

  It makes me miss the desert so much I ache with it. The missing makes me restless and anxious. The speed at which Soanashalo’a strides toward us during a brief rest only makes it worse.

  I snap. “What else has gone wrong?”

  She blinks, then she smiles. “Actually, something has gone right. Come with me.”

  Exhaling relief, I glance toward Tessen and back, silently asking if I should bring him along. Soanashalo’a considers it before she nods. Soon, we’re inside her wagon, away from the storm and the tension as everyone waits for Miari to fill the sinkhole and free the wagon.

  “When I told you I possibly had something that might help your search, I may have lied. Slightly,” she begins as soon as the door is closed.

  “Lied about what?” My chest clenches as I sit. If her search turned up nothing—

  “I knew what might help you the day you asked,” she admits, “but it is a guarded secret. Not something I would be able to share even with a friend of the clan unless I had permission from those far more important than my family.”

  “And you got it?” I lean forward, my hands trembling with excitement.

  “I did. You might be able to learn how to do this magic without the symbol, but the only way I know how to teach you is to ink it into your skin.” She brushes her fingers against the small symbol at the corner of her right eye.

  “Yes,” I agree instantly. “If it will help us find a katsujo, absolutely.”

  Tessen glances at me, his amusement clear. “Does it have to be on our face?”

  “Not at all. Any unscarred skin will do.” She bustles around the small space, picking up several items from different bags, shelves, and cabinets. “For this in particular, it might be best either on your arms or over your heart.”

  Tessen chooses the inside of his right wrist, but the desosa pools strongest in my chest, so I remove my layers, leaving only my breastband on top. Although her eyebrows rise and her eyes widen before she wipes the expression from her face—or tries to—Soanashalo’a doesn’t comment on our choices. Instead, she asks who’d like to go first and then gestures to one of the chairs when I volunteer. She pulls her own chair up to mine, and I spread my legs to allow her to sit as close as possible.

  “You really are unfairly attractive, you know,” she mutters as she
cleans the skin over my heart with liquid from a white stone bottle. Tessen laughs and I smirk, but before either of us can say anything, she continues. “For this to work and hold, you cannot fight the akiloshulo’e kua’ana manano—ah no. Desosa.”

  “Desosa,” I confirm.

  “As I mark your skin, I will weave the energy into the ink. It has to sink into it until one is indistinguishable from the other and both are indistinguishable from you.” She looks at both of us, her expression serious. “You cannot struggle at all or it will not work. You have to accept it.” Then her golden-brown eyes lock on mine, this time filled with speculation. “And, honestly, I have no idea how the changes the susuji wrought in you will impact my magic.”

  “If it doesn’t work on me, it should still work on Tessen, right?” It’s one of the reasons I wanted to go first—I had the same concerns. Wounds heal almost instantly now. It’s not impossible to think whatever process they use to deposit ink in skin will count as a wound to the magic embedded in my blood.

  “There is no reason to think otherwise. Yet.” She shrugs and opens a clear bottle of ink.

  It’d better work, or we’ll be wandering Ryogo hoping to trip over a phenomenon that has stayed hidden from the land’s actual inhabitants for centuries. Or longer.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to make it easier on you,” I promise, touching the silver pendant she gave me. Her eyes linger there, her expression fond.

  “Well, even if it does not work, at least I got to do this.” With a delighted grin, Soanashalo’a brushes the tips of her calloused fingers along the side of my neck before pressing her palm flat against my skin, one long edge of her hand parallel with my collarbone. The touch makes me shiver and raises bumps on my skin, ones Soanashalo’a smooths away with her thumb.

  “Tell me about your home, Tessen,” Soanashalo’a requests as she dips a sharp implement into the ink. “I am unbearably curious about the place that produced a family like yours.”